


Emperor Brought Low

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Slash, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23000980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: To Geralt, Emhyr was the most frustrating man alive.For a multitude of very good reasons, according to Geralt. Emhyr was the emperor of the North and South, so that meant he was extremely clever and sharp, which were two very good traits for the emperor, but not for a father, friend, or even occasional game partner. It made him frustrating to speak to, because he was always five steps ahead of you in any situation, even one as simple and as friendly as a game of Gwent.Emhyr takes an interest in Geralt's hair. Geralt takes an interest in other things.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 264





	Emperor Brought Low

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** this is a trans geralt fic (as noted in the tags) but some wording may be particularly triggering (clit, for example). please read at your own discretion!

To Geralt, Emhyr was the most frustrating man alive.

For a multitude of very good reasons, according to Geralt. Emhyr was the emperor of the North and South, so that meant he was extremely clever and sharp, which were two very good traits for the emperor, but not for a father, friend, or even occasional game partner. It made him frustrating to speak to, because he was always five steps ahead of you in any situation, even one as simple and as friendly as a game of Gwent.

It wasn’t just him either. There were times where he would see Ciri practically kick the door shut in her departure, spare him an angry glance in greeting, and disappear in a flash of green and white. At this point, he’s seen that display so many times that he was resigned to the fate of having to choose whether to comfort his daughter or avoid her ire and leave her alone. Both choices, it seemed, always ended with him going to Emhyr.

Which brought him to now, and to his own predicament. What did one _do_ when Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, The White Flame Dancing on the Graves of His Enemies, decided he wanted to keep you in his office by running his fingers through your hair?

Geralt wasn’t even entirely sure how this began. At some point, during their game of chess (that obviously ended with Emhyr’s victory) the man decided he wanted to pet Geralt, and didn’t let up even after they finished their game. He was used to children grabbing and touching his hair out of curiosity, but never an adult man, let alone the _emperor_. Around the ten minute mark, Geralt decided this _wasn’t_ just plain curiosity— there was a goal to this, knowing Emhyr. In the back of his mind, Geralt remembered the story of the man indirectly killed by his lover who cut his hair.

But damn it all, it was relaxing, and thus frustrating. A morbid part of himself wondered if this was Emhyr’s patient way to get the Witcher to lower his guard and make him relax so there wouldn’t be resistance from Geralt when he brandished a carefully hidden dagger. However, easy as it was to convince himself that Emhyr still hated him enough to kill him for past sins done against him, Geralt knew that outcome was just as likely as Emhyr forgetting his plans of abdicating the throne to Ciri— _i_ _mpossible_.

All options exhausted, he knew there was nothing he could personally claim that would explain Emhyr’s peculiar behaviour. So instead of thinking about it, which is almost always never his choice, he just let it happen. At least it was enjoyable.

“Geralt,” Emhyr called, his voice a quiet rumble. Geralt realised a long time ago that he liked Emhyr’s voice when it wasn’t telling him, in either too many words or in High Formal Nilfgaardian, to fuck off or find Ciri. He hummed in response, too relaxed to want to form full words. “I did not expect you to enjoy this.”

Geralt didn’t expect it either, but here he was, petted by the emperor like he was a particularly large cat. It came to him belatedly that he was _lounging_ on Emhyr’s legs, draped over surprisingly muscular thighs, angled just right to provide an easy way to card fingers through his hair. He imagined that, if he had the vocal cords for it, he would be purring by now. Funnily enough, the confusion and shock he felt when this first started were so long gone that he wasn’t even sure he really felt them in the first place.

“Your hand is nice,” Geralt mumbled, closing his eyes. There was a pause at the petting, and he half-feared that it would stop, until another hand joined the first one and lightly scratched against the nape of his neck, before resting there, thumb rubbing circles at the small hairs of his neck. Geralt made a sound of approval, nestling his arms closer to Emhyr’s hips.

It wasn’t long until he both felt and smelled the telltale signs of arousal. Geralt can’t even begin to fault Emhyr for it, considering how close Geralt’s face was to the man’s crotch and how warm he probably was. He glanced up with an amused look towards Emhyr, already mapping out how his night was going to end. “Really?”

Emhyr, to his credit, didn’t look the least bit bothered. “I _am_ still a man, after all,” He said, as if it explained everything, and maybe it did, but Geralt loved being difficult. “Perhaps you should have considered this outcome when you decided to use me as your chaise lounge.”

Geralt tilted his head in a poor rendition of innocence. “What exactly is the outcome?”

Emhyr regarded him with a searching look, and Geralt carefully held his gaze. There was a curl of _something_ at the bottom of his stomach when he saw the emperor’s pupils dilate as they searched his face. If he tried hard enough, he probably could have heard the gears turning in Emhyr’s mind, so he decided to speed the process along.

Wetting his lips, he adjusted slightly so his face was mere inches away from Emhyr’s crotch. “Tell me, Emhyr,” and he didn’t miss the look of dawning recognition on Emhyr’s face and the faster beat of his heart, “What outcome did you want?”

For a moment, Geralt thought he overstepped his boundaries at the look that flashed through Emhyr’s eyes, but the worry disappeared just as quickly as it came when Emhyr bent down to kiss him. He angled upwards to make the kiss a little more comfortable for the both of them. _Finally_ , a voice told him in his head, and he realised it was actually his own. He wasn’t sure at what point he started anticipating this, but Geralt pushed the thought away to focus on kissing Emhyr.

His lips were soft and well-cared for, compared to Geralt’s own spit-slick ones, but mostly lacking in experience. However, whatever Emhyr lacked in experience, he made up tenfold with eagerness and intensity. In the back of his mind, Geralt wondered if he was Emhyr’s first kiss since Pavetta.

Crawling to his knees, he positioned himself on Emhyr’s lap, seating himself there and feeling Emhyr’s clothed member press against his own heat. He felt the hand still in his hair tighten as he ground down on Emhyr’s crotch, relishing the sound of aroused approval that came from the man. Emhyr paused at that, and Geralt knew this was the moment where the path diverged in two directions.

“You’re—?” Emhyr questioned, but there was no offence or disgust in his tone, just curiosity. Still, Geralt raised his brow, nodding slowly, hair messily framing his hair.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Geralt didn’t typically take offence with people reacting poorly to the realisation, but considering he was both the surrogate father of Emhyr’s daughter and someone poised on top of his cock, he was going to be sorely disappointed if Emhyr decided it was a problem.

Emhyr looked at him incredulously. “No. Mererid is..” His hand runs through Geralt’s hair once more, before tightening at his nape. “I rule an empire of humans and nonhumans where all are of equal standing unless one is richer or poorer. This is not a matter I would find issue in.”

Geralt smiled; a genuine one this time, not like a smirk or a grin. He kissed Emhyr again, softer than the last time, before grinding down on Emhyr’s crotch again. He swallowed the hitched breath against his lips, before moving his hands down to untie Emhyr’s breeches, dextrously manoeuvring his fingers until they came to grasp Emhyr’s hard cock, beautifully red at the tip and leaking clear fluid. His smile shifted into a grin as he glanced at Emhyr, who was pointedly keeping his eyes on where Geralt’s hands were with a blush on his cheeks.

“You’re gorgeous like that,” Geralt muttered before he could really think about it, and relished in the way Emhyr’s cheeks darkened as he glared at him. He stroked Emhyr slowly, letting the sword calluses of his palms run against the sensitive head in the way he knew men enjoyed.

Fighting another grin at the colourful reaction to his hand, he moved to kiss Emhyr’s throat, tasting the cleanliness and the lingering aftershave there. He stopped just above Emhyr’s vest and livery collar, humming against the skin there. “I think we can do with less clothing,” Geralt said, planting a soft kiss against the skin of Emhyr’s neck, “Maybe a bed, if we can even make it there.”

Emhyr seemed to regain himself then and cast a dark look at Geralt, pupils blown wide and tanned cheeks tinted red. “And if I wanted to have you here? Right on my desk?” He asked, and it seemed more like an open command than a request, but Geralt found the tips of his ears burning at Emhyr’s boldness.

He stood up, ignoring the feeling in him that immediately missed the warmth, and pushed away some papers and documents from the middle of the desk, along with a few inkwells and stamps. He remembered the last time he forgot to push away an inkwell from the desk of an adventurous scholar. He ended up with an inky handprint on his ass and a bit of shame. He unlaced his own breeches with one hand and fiddled with the laces of the casual shirt he was wearing, putting on a show for Emhyr.

Emhyr watched with great interest, not moving to remove _any_ of his clothing, only languidly stroking his cock as his eyes dragged all across Geralt’s body. When all of his clothes finally came off, Geralt seated himself on the table, spreading his legs so Emhyr had a very generous view of Geralt’s slick entrance. “Well?” Geralt asked expectantly, moving his hand and dipping one finger into his entrance. “Are you going to let me do all the work?”

That got Emhyr moving, who stood from his seat and strolled over to Geralt, his lips turned upwards in a small smile, running his hands all over Geralt’s thighs. Emhyr kneeled until his face was level with Geralt’s heat, and by the time the Witcher realised what exactly was happening, a moan escaped him. He threw his head back as he moaned, trying to keep his thighs from closing around Emhyr’s head as the man sucked and licked his slit, paying special attention to his clit. “ _Fuck_ , Emhyr—” He groaned, one hand shooting to tangle in Emhyr’s hair. “Ah—sweet Melitele, _yes_ —”

Emhyr had only introduced one finger alongside his tongue by the time Geralt came and soaked his mouth, shaking slightly as he forced his thighs open to avoid crushing Emhyr. “Oh, gods,” He panted, looking down towards him. Some part of him was still reeling from the surprise of the fact that Emhyr knelt before him and ate him out, which seemed to usually be too degrading for other men to do for him. Considering this was the _emperor_ , he thought that was bullshit.

Slightly overwhelmed, he cupped Emhyr’s jaw and brought him up, kissing the man intensely and tasting his own release on Emhyr’s tongue. Geralt moaned into Emhyr’s mouth as the emperor continued fucking one finger into him, kisses slowly becoming more desperate as he kept adding fingers. It wasn’t long before there were three in him, and while he relished the feeling, he didn’t want it ending as soon as it began.

“Come on,” Geralt mumbled against Emhyr’s lips, who was silent as always, but in an entirely different, more enjoyable context. “Fuck me already, I’m ready.”

“Clearly your patience is lacking,” Emhyr quipped, but he stood up straight anyways, slowly removing the fingers from inside Geralt. He positioned his cock and thrust in, earning a moan from Geralt and a sharp intake of air from Emhyr, until he was buried to the hilt in Geralt. He stayed for a moment to let Geralt adjust and only started moving when he felt the Witcher’s hand on his arm.

“Oh, fuck, gods—” Geralt _whimpered_ , wrapping his arms around Emhyr’s neck. Emhyr wasn’t the biggest he’d taken, but it had been a long while since he’s had this; trysts with Yen and Triss not included, since they were women and didn’t have actual cocks. His past assessment of Emhyr was clearly wrong, because he seemed to know _exactly_ what he was doing, snapping his hips up so his cockhead rubbed against the spot inside Geralt that had him seeing stars, and he knew from the pace that Emhyr was going that he wouldn’t last too long.

The pleasure peaks with an exceptionally sharp thrust that buried Emhyr in him and hit his sweet spot just right. He came again, howling Emhyr’s name for anyone close to the shut door of his office to hear, digging his blunt nails against Emhyr’s vest. Above him (when did he end up lying on the desk?) Emhyr’s pace grew more erratic, his breathing quicker and grunts more audible as he sheathed himself once more in Geralt and came with a groan of the Witcher’s name.

“Ciri will hear about this, you know that, right?” Geralt asked him, a few minutes after they cleaned up and got dressed. They were back to the position they started in, with Geralt’s head resting on Emhyr’s lap again and Emhyr’s fingers—the same ones that were just _in him_ minutes ago, Geralt noted—carding through his hair, the both of them satisfied.

Emhyr made a sound of affirmation. “She will, and if not from either of us, she will hear from the friends she has accumulated,” He said, almost nonchalant. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

Geralt blinked open his eyes and looked up at him, holding the emperor’s inquisitive gaze for a moment, before smiling. “Let her find out from her friends. She’ll try to find proof, and we can provide as much of it as she should see.”

“She will not enjoy being toyed with.”

Geralt thought about it for a moment. “She threw me into a lake when I tried talking to her while she was mad a few days ago. I’ll claim vengeance.”

“Then be dropped into a lake _again_?”

“Maybe this time she’ll throw you in with me. You’d deserve it just as much.”

“Be silent, you insolent fool.”

“Yes, yes, I enjoy your company too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i’m [theratofrivia](https://theratofrivia.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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